


Violet Tiaras

by Gorillazgal86, improfem



Series: Plenteous Crop [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Greece, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Jealousy, NSFW Art, Podfic Welcome, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Threesome - F/F/F, Transformative Works Welcome, Vaginal Fisting, Vaguely historical omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem/pseuds/improfem
Summary: Crowley has never fallen into anything with anyone, let alone a human, but when she is assigned to the Poetess Sappho, she herself is tempted by her quick-wit and beautiful mind.  It’s all going rather well in fact, until Aziraphale appears unexpectedly.Alternatively:Roses are redViolets are blueCrowley’s shaggin’ SapphoSo Aziraphale thought she would to
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/Sappho (fl. 600 BCE), Crowley/Aziraphale/Sappho
Series: Plenteous Crop [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735825
Comments: 88
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story sits within a wider (currently unpublished) universe where Crowley and Aziraphale are reliving/recreating moments from their past from the South Down’s cottage as they piece together their history and work through their past. But it stands quite all right on it’s own. 
> 
> Thank you so much to our lovely beta [wise-girl-lol-not-really](https://wise-girl-lol-not-really.tumblr.com) for all their work on helping this story be as right as it can be! Very much appreciated!
> 
> Update: We're delighted to include a beautiful commission from the incredibly skilled [Selene](https://selene-yoshi-chan.tumblr.com/) to accompany this fic! Available for your viewing pleasure in Chapter 2 :D

The sun creeps through a gauzy curtain and across Crowley's face as she begins to waken. She is naked, warm and curled around a softly snoring goddess of a woman whom Crowley can scarce believe has not only permitted her into her bed, but into her home and life. As far as missions go, this rates amongst the top.

Ordinarily, Crowley prides herself on her ability to conduct all manner of temptations and seductions without actually getting her hands dirty. It’s easy enough. Generally, humans don't spark a flame in Crowley's desire: too complicated, too messy, too short-lived to be worth her time and effort to anything beyond what was strictly required.

But Sappho is different. Soft-spoken and almost delicate in her everyday life but with a sharp and brilliant mind, so singularly brimming with the most enchanting and beautiful prose that Crowley finds _she_ is the one who is tempted and unable to resist.

Sappho's intelligence and quick wit, her kind and generous nature reminds Crowley of her oldest and dearest friend and while that certainly explains some of the attraction, it doesn't fully capture the magic and allure of the beguiling, brilliant woman. Crowley is completely and utterly smitten.

"Good morning," she whispers, pressing a feather-light kiss against Sappho's ear, which draws out a soft, sleepy moan from her lover's lips.

Still warm and pliant from sleep, Sappho captures Crowley's hand in hers and turns it over to press a kiss to her palm.

"Good morning. Awake before me again? Sometimes I could swear you don't need sleep, my sweet." The accusation makes Crowley chuckle - of course it's true, she doesn't need sleep, not really, but her lover also can't know that she has been known to sleep for entire weeks at a time. Both of those things would be hard to explain.

"Not as much as I need to watch you dream,” she murmurs seductively into the other woman's ear, and is rewarded by a quick pinch to the thigh, and then - much more worthwhile - a leg that slides between her’s as Sappho turns over.

"Would you like to know what I was dreaming of?" she asks, and what kind of demon would Crowley be if she said no? She nods eagerly, pressing in for a deep, sleep-drunk kiss, before pulling back to let her lover speak.

"Tell me, and spare no details. You know how I love the way you paint with words."

Sappho laughs exuberantly, and rolls Crowley onto her back.

"Flattery will get you nowhere my supple serpent. How about I show you?"

Crowley's entire body arches under Sappho, her eyes glowing brightly with the promise of being shown. Sappho's fingers trace up Crowley's lean sides, gliding over every rib as if the bones themselves were worthy of worship and up the underside of Crowley's arms, tickling just slightly before she interlocks her fingers with Crowley's, pinning her to the bed and Crowley groans.

"I think I like this dream already," Crowley says, her voice a heated purr and Sappho straddles the top of Crowley's leg, her knee just pressing against Crowley's vulva and then grinds a slow circle of her hips on Crowley's thigh, the wetness from her smearing across the skin there.

"I thought you might, it was a very vivid dream," Sappho agrees and with Crowley's hands still pinned to the bed, leans in to give her a slow and lingering kiss.

Sappho’s tongue knows exactly where to brush against her mouth, having found deliciously sensitive spots that Crowley wasn't even aware of over their months together. She continues to grind against Crowley's thigh, a flush rising to her cheeks as the movement delivers near constant contact against the whole of her clit. Crowley watches in wonder as the other woman takes her pleasure from her, using Crowley, pliant and warm, to drive forward her own needs.

Sappho lets out a groan before moving from a teasingly slow circle to rutting against Crowley's thigh, releasing of her hands so she can reach between Crowley's thighs and spread her open with two flingers, gliding effortlessly between her labia and pulling and stroking the sensitive folds beneath.

"Ah, hnnn, that's lovely," Crowley pants as Sappho leisurely explores her while rocking across her thigh, her round cheeks growing warmer and brighter with every second.

"You are so beautiful, look how hungry and eager you are for my touch, absolutely splendid," Sappho purrs and uses her thumb and forefinger to gently grip Crowley's clit and slide back the hood.

"Got me - hnn - well trained there, I guess." Crowley feels ripe and swollen already, and they've barely even started. Sappho has that effect on her - an almost magical pull, reminding her constantly of what delights Crowley has already experienced at her hands, and how much more she has to offer. She knows it, too, and throws Crowley a cheeky little grin as she rubs her fingers gently alongside the nub of Crowley's clit, rolling it just so - enough to make the sensitive bundle of nerves jump with need, but not enough to nudge it closer to real satisfaction, let alone completion.

"Terrible tease," Crowley pants, and tenses her muscles slightly to give Sappho a more substantial canvas to grind on. The other woman grins, and throws her head back, dark brown curls cascading down the length of her back like a sensual waterfall.

"Don't pretend you don't love it. You know what you get for being patient, don't you?"

And oh, Crowley does.

The thought alone makes her whine, her mind immediately drawn back to long hours in this bed, stretching syrupy sweet around them while her lover draws one orgasm after the other out of her, and shares her own body in kind. Quiet moments in between, both of them just wrapped in each other's arms, not a care in the world except for what is right in front of them. For all of that, it's well worth a few moments of being kept on edge.

Sappho seems to be drinking in Crowley's whimpers and moans beneath her, the fire slowly growing between them both. As she fingers Crowley's cunt, Sappho slides forward, spreading across Crowley's hip bone, the sharp edge of it just enough to deliver a more direct and intense pressure and Sappho gasps as she rocks her pussy against it, wet and dripping on Crowley's skin.

Crowley manages to catch her eyes, deep brown and doe-like, radiating nothing but warmth towards Crowley and it sends a shiver through her that has nothing to do with the tender fingers navigating across her mound. Crowley tumbles into the endless pools, completely lost, and it feels like the other woman is staring straight into the core of her. Like she can see the several lifetimes of experience there ...and still manages to like what she sees.

"It's like the Gods gave me you, as a reward for something I did well, though I couldn't tell you what. Your body has been tailor made for me, Chrysanthe, you're perfectly perfect," Sappho gasps, her grinding now reduces to tight, controlled movements. Her fingers mirror this against Crowley's clit and it's maddening - Crowley's vision begins to blur.

Sappho bends down to kiss her, the tumble of dark brown curls surrounding them both like a curtain of verdant vines, the lavender and rose scent of her overwhelming Crowley's senses and much quicker than she'd anticipated. She's already beginning to dance on that exquisite edge, very nearly there. Sappho's breaths are growing quicker above her, her perfectly rounded breasts beginning to heave, pert pink nipples just brushing across Crowley's lips with every arch of her body. Crowley can't resist any longer and stretches to capture one in her mouth, sucking sweetly, flicking her tongue across the swollen nub and a thrill of delight runs through her when Sappho lets out a honeyed moan.

"Oh you're so very good my love, you know exactly what I need, I'm so close," Sappho gasps, soaking in the sight of Crowley leaning into her, lips wrapped around her breast, her cunt swollen and soaking Crowley's skin. Crowley arches up her hip in rhythm and that seems to be exactly what is needed as Sappho gasps and tenses before a toe-curling shudder runs through her, a long breathy moan spilling out as her hips move faster and more erratically, eager to enjoy every single second of her climax.

The oncoming orgasm has stilled Sappho's movements on Crowley's clit, and without the stimulation, she slowly floats down from that near-orgasmic high, watching instead as her partner writhes and comes above her, and, oh, that's almost as lovely. Before Sappho, Crowley had never shared her body with anyone else, human, infernal or celestial. When she imagined it, she wouldn't have guessed that it would give her such pleasure to watch another's climax, to drink in the sweet cries of pleasure that drip from her lips.

It's the strangest thing, this affection, and sometimes, in bright, sparkling moments like this, Crowley wonders if it is what the humans call love. It shares so many of the qualities of what Crowley has heard them talk about, has seen memorialised in epos after epos, and, well, in the very expressive poetry Sappho herself writes: the effervescent joy in the other person, that quiet assurance that you don't have to perform for them, the almost breathless amazement it leaves her with.

The only thing that's missing, if she is being honest, are the wilder emotions Crowley is told comes with love. She's never felt the urge to fight a battle in Sappho's stead, and sometimes, she wonders if it's simply because the other woman so clearly doesn't need it -- or if it says something about the depth of her devotion. She's never felt distraught at the thought of parting from her lover, confident that they will find their way back together soon enough -- or that their passion will burn itself out, and they will happily go their separate ways. At the prospect of eventually, inevitably losing her, well...Crowley feels a deep sadness, but even in this moment, it is already coupled with acceptance. Humans live. They create and they love and they laugh and they leave their impression on the world, and then they die. That's just how it is. Can this actually be love, if she is so blasé about it?

Crowley doesn't have long to dwell on whether this is love or something approximating it, as Sappho slides down her leg, wet and slick with her orgasm and settles between Crowley's thighs, pushing them a bit wider and looking with fondness and appreciation at Crowley's cunt.

"There is no spring flower that blooms more beautifully than you. You are every inch as perfect as the first daffodil in spring, a burst of golden brightness in a bleak and desolate land, your fragrance just as sweet, oh to what divine power do I owe worship for you," Sappho coos and then slides two fingers inside of Crowley, curling along the sensitive front wall of her vagina as her thumb works tight circles around her clit.

Crowley flushes deeply with the words. It never ceases to go straight to the heart of her, the elegant words that just seem to effortlessly come to Sappho and are so very generously wafted in her direction. Crowley let's her eyes drift shut and Sappho plunges into Crowley and kisses her deeply as her fingers work their exquisite magic and with a cry, Crowley is spilling across her fingers and she writhes and squirms through her climax, a thoroughly pleased and satisfied smirk on Sappho's porcelain doll face.

"I can't think of a more perfect way to start a day, my lovely pet," Sappho says as she pulls away from Crowley, shuddering and weak with her orgasm.

Sappho seems to bounce brightly off the bed, stretching and straightening the curves of her body as she strides naked to the window and pulls back the curtains, letting more of the sun warm the room.

"No, me neither," Crowley says weakly, pulling up on her elbows.

She watches as Sappho makes her way about the room, getting ready for the day, full of energy and vibrancy, while Crowley still feels boneless from sex and sleep.

"You are coming to the performance tonight, aren't you, precious?" Sappho asks as she drapes her dress over her shoulders, covering her skin much to Crowley's disappointment.

"Yeah, think so." Crowley rolls over onto her stomach and stretches out in the sun, her spine rolling and elongating with the motion.

The sun is already hot on her back, and part of her feels more than ready to just fall asleep again. Instead, she twists her neck and observes Sappho, going about her morning routine.

"Think you'll bring someone home tonight?"

Sappho has never made it a secret that her love for women knows no bounds, and certainly can't be restricted to fit into an exclusive relationship. And while Crowley has been singularly blessed by being the one who's permitted to share her house and bed, there are frequently others, some of them close friends and lovers, some of them fleeting acquaintances. It doesn't bother Crowley, her affection may be more or less reserved for one person, but she’s never felt like she is missing out on anything because her lover doesn’t feel the same way. After all, it has never reduced what she receives from Sappho, or threatened her in any way.

On occasion, she has joined in when Sappho has brought her conquests home, and other times, she just spends the time elsewhere - around the village and the house, while the bedroom is otherwise occupied. Today, she's not in the mood for learning a stranger's body, so if that's what's on the agenda for later, she may as well think about alternatives now.

"I haven't decided, we'll just have to see what flowers bloom among the hearts of our friends tonight, shall we?" Sappho returns to her side, and bends down to press a kiss to Crowley's lips. "Maybe you'll want to pluck one for us soon, I would love to learn more about your tastes."

Crowley presses into the kiss eagerly, though as Sappho floats off, she lets out a quiet sigh. Her _tastes_ are generally quite specific and she'd be willing to eat her figurative hat if her _taste_ is actually at this evening’s event. Though, it wouldn't be the most surprising thing. The angel that Crowley has maintained a steady flame for since time began does have a penchant for these sorts of things and if he doesn’t know about Sappho at this very moment, he surely will soon.

"We'll see, I’m fairly picky, but never say never," Crowley says as she gives a long stretch and pulls herself off the mattress to dress and make herself presentable.

"I'm sure whoever strikes your fancy will be a most delectable treat, I'll look forward to the day it happens," Sappho leans in for another heated kiss and Crowley melts against her.

_In nearly four thousand years, you're the first, so I wouldn't be waiting if I were you,_ Crowley thinks.

Though, if pressed, Crowley could certainly find someone to satisfy Sappho's appetite, if not her own. Despite having a scheduled performance that evening, Sappho has a full diary of events for the day. With a final parting kiss, she strides out of the small house wearing a radiant smile that leaves Crowley both warm with affection and wanting to drag her immediately back to bed and make her forget completely about whatever else she has planned that day.

* * *

The sun is warm and the day passes swiftly for Crowley. There's not much infernal work to be done, as Sappho is doing on her own what Hell had hoped she would, and inspiring the women around her to embrace their sexual natures to their heart’s content. So Crowley passes her days tending to the small garden around Sappho's home. It's much easier in the humid Greek heat, where the plants need only gentle coaxing, lacking the petulance of the English plants that suffer much longer under cold and overly damp conditions.

Crowley wanders to the venue as the sun begins to slip beneath the horizon and settles herself towards the front with a strong bottle of wine on the table. Sappho's performances are legendary, the voice of a generation, the public declare and the atmosphere is buzzing as Grecians settle into their seats. An excitable hum permeates the air, well over a hundred Grecians looking forward to the show.

A few acquaintances stop at her table to say hello, and a couple of the girls linger, clearly hoping to be invited to a glass of wine and whatever else the evening might lead to. But even though she's soaked up the solitude of their garden all day, Crowley is not in the mood for chattering company. So when the invitation doesn't come, they all move on, none of them bold enough to impose. They settle into small groups in the vicinity instead, and Crowley can hear scraps of conversation floating on the salty, fragrant air, eavesdropping on a discussion around one girl's philandering husband, which turns to a dispute with in-laws for another.

When she looks up again, the seat across the table has been filled, and Crowley can't help but jump. She's met with a wide, dazzling smile from the curvy, unusually blond woman. The attempt to politely return it falls far short, because meeting the stranger's gaze causes a dizzying mixture of deja vu and vertigo, and Crowley has to blink furiously.

"Uh hi. Don't think I've seen you around here before. Chrysanthe, and you are...?"

The other woman's face falls, just a little, but quickly rearranges itself into a smile again.

"Crowley, it's me! Aziraphale! Though, uhm, these days I go by Airlea."

Crowley's heart leaps at the confirmation and it's like a veil is lifted and she chides herself for thinking the blue-eyed, sumptuous tangle of white-blonde curls could have been anyone else but Aziraphale. Crowley's heart thumps loudly in her ears out of surprise and excitement.

"Oh goodness, of course it's you! Head's away, sorry! Are you here with anyone, you're welcome to join me, if you'd like?" Crowley scrambles to pull a chair back to Aziraphale before she's even had a chance to respond.

At the surrounding tables, Crowley can hear the put-out voices of those who didn't receive a similar invitation, but tunes them out.

"No, I’m actually here on my own, that'd be lovely, thank you!" Aziraphale gratefully takes her seat and watches as Crowley discreetly miracles a second glass and pours a glass of wine, pushing it towards her.

Crowley's face feels hot, trying not to stare. She's never seen Aziraphale in a feminine form like this, and Crowley cannot stop thinking at how the soft curves and longer curls suit Aziraphale extremely well. Crowley distracts herself with her wine, swallowing it hard, the tannic warmth of it coating her insides.

"So, what brings you here, angel?" Crowley tries to ask as casually as possible, a faint tingle still running through her at Aziraphale’s unexpected appearance.

"Well, I'm in-between jobs at the moment and word of Sappho's brilliance is spreading, so I thought a holiday to the Greek Islands is exactly what the doctor ordered. What about you?" Aziraphale beams and relaxes into her seat.

It is unusual to see Aziraphale so calm and at ease. They have typically bumped into each other when in the midst of jobs - and big ones at that, where idle chit-chat is a near impossibility. With her new form, every inch of her seems to glow. Crowley looks down at her wine, swirling it slowly, watching it coat and run down her glass to stop her gawking at Aziraphale.

"Here on a temptation actually, so working, but as far as jobs go, it's been pretty good," Crowley admits, though withholds the information on who exactly she's been _tempting_. It's not that she's ashamed or worried, but figures if Aziraphale knows it's Sappho, it could colour her enjoyment of the show.

"Well, lucky you. I suppose hell has always offered rather enticing benefits, part of the appeal, I would imagine."

Crowley quietly snorts into her wine. If she were less content with her current situation, she would definitely be upset with the angel treating hell like a particularly skilled team of headhunters, just working for the rival firm. Crowley, for her part, couldn't exactly say she had reviewed the benefits package before free-falling into sulphur, but she isn't in the mood to argue.

Before she can find a different topic to steer the conversation to, the people around them begin to cheer and Aziraphale's eyes wander immediately to the stage, shining with anticipation and excitement. It's a strange feeling, seeing Sappho take the stage, breathtaking and confident as always, and yet - for the first time since Crowley met her - only the second most interesting person in the room.

"Do you suppose the rumours are true?", Aziraphale whispers, her eyes glued to the alluring woman who has just made the entire stage her own with an act as simple as sitting on a stool. "Do you suppose she really does... seek the company of other women?"

Crowley, torn between watching the two enchanting creatures to her left and right, needs a moment to process the question.

"Hmmm...? Yeah, true, definitely true."

Again, she takes in Aziraphale's new form, the curves just made to be caressed, those cheeks that practically scream to be kissed. And something dawns on her.

"Wait, is this why you're...like that? Aziraphale, _are you a groupie?_ "

A deep crimson colours Aziraphale's cheeks as Crowley asks the question and her soft hands fly up to cover it, but it is too late and a wicked smile blooms on Crowley's face as Aziraphale flaps.

With her rounder, more cherubic features, she looks even more adorable flustered then she ordinarily does and it's enough for Crowley to pull the one eye carefully trained on the stage to focus both on Aziraphale.

"I'm not a groupie!" Aziraphale exclaims haughtily. "That implies I'm throwing myself at artists and that the extent of my interest is to try and catch her eye in order to bed her. I believe aficionado would be a more appropriate term. As you well know Crowley, I'm a great lover of literature and poetry and Sappho is already being lauded as the Poetess and the Tenth Muse. I'd be a fool to miss an opportunity to see her perform live."

Crowley cradles her chin in her hands, nodding agreeably.

"Fair point angel. Still doesn't answer why you couldn't have enjoyed the performance as a man," Crowley smirks and while she's not intending to tease Aziraphale for whatever effort she chooses to make, as far as Crowley can tell, this is a brand new configuration for Aziraphale and her love of all things pleasurable and indulgent are just about as well-known as her love of poetry and literature. Aziraphale grows redder still and glares at Crowley before fixing her eyes determinedly on the stage where Sappho is still introducing herself and her work.

"Look around you Crowley, this is one of those rare moments in history where being a woman is advantageous," Aziraphale hisses, now trying very hard not to look at Crowley and feign full concentration on the performance.

Crowley just shrugs, offers Aziraphale a teasing grin and lets her eyes scan over the blushing and indignant angel before pulling them back to Sappho, a vision in pale blue linen and cascading dark brown curls.

"Advantageous how?" Crowley asks idly, not really looking for an answer, and delights in the exasperated sigh Aziraphale makes in response.

"I certainly managed to catch your attention," Aziraphale reminds her and Crowley's heart skips.

Aziraphale had looked like a dream when she had materialised at Crowley’s table and Crowley can’t find it in her to deny it.

"You did, your new look suits you," Crowley says and reaches across to squeeze Aziraphale's arm as a small, pleased smile brightens her face.

"I could introduce you to her, if you'd like?" Crowley offers. Sappho's challenge this morning flashes through her mind, but she immediately shakes it off.

"Oh?” Something lights up in Aziraphale's eyes, and for all her teasing, Crowley has to admit that it is precious. Aziraphale might hope for something more physical from Sappho, but her excitement at the prospect of meeting such a talented artist is real. "You know her?"

A sharp comeback prickles on the tip of her tongue, something regarding all the different ways in which Crowley knows Sappho, but on stage, the great poetess is just launching into her first performance. So Crowley only nods and loses herself in watching Aziraphale delight in yet another, human treat. As always, the pleasure of it makes her glow brightly with unrestrained delight, and Crowley can't help but stare at that expressive face, contorting into all the shapes of pleasure.

If her mind slips away every now and then to wonder whether Aziraphale would look the same while experiencing other pleasures, well, so what?

Fantastic as the performance always is, it is elevated immensely by watching it in pleasant company. During the breaks, they chat amicably about Aziraphale's last few assignments, and the local community and sights, though Crowley knows better than to let on what her own assignment is here.

Finally, the night falls clear and balmy over them, and after one last encore, Sappho declares that she really is quite exhausted, and do her fans want her to be too tired to enjoy a few pleasures of her own? A titter runs through the crowd at that, and Crowley can't help but smile.

Sappho's eyes meet Crowley's from across the crowd as the audience begins to filter out, an eyebrow arching in interest as her eyes rake over Aziraphale, a playful glimmer in her smile. A flush runs through Crowley and her plan of not mentioning the exact nature of her relationship with Sappho to Aziraphale seems to be crumbling in front of her.

"She's looking right at us, Crowley," Aziraphale says with effervescent excitement in her voice.

"There's something I should probably mention, Aziraphale," Crowley begins as Sappho turns away to speak to an exuberant woman who approaches her on the stage.

Crowley swallows, wondering why this is so damn difficult. She can't help shake the feeling of she's about to introduce two paramours, even though she and the angel are not and have never been anything other than friends.

"What is it Crowley?" Aziraphale asks with a twinge of concern in her voice, looking at Crowley with her wide, endlessly blue eyes and her plump lips pulled into a frown. Crowley takes a deep breath.

"I _know_ her, Aziraphale, and not just socially ...if you catch my meaning?" Crowley manages, even if she's not quite able to articulate it as clearly as she ought to be and braces herself for Aziraphale’s reaction.

It takes a moment for her meaning to dawn on Aziraphale and when it does, it takes the form of a bastardly, pleased smile. Aziraphale glances over her shoulder, as Sappho begins to sway towards them, Crowley's heart is thumping.

"For all the abuse you were just giving me about being a groupie. Oh, but this is an interesting development," Aziraphale smirks and Crowley hasn't got time for a response as Sappho's arm is now winding around her waist, pulling her closer, as Aziraphale watches on with feigned innocence and amusement.

"My darling Chrysanthe, I didn't realise you were going to bring a friend, and what an absolutely stunning creature. I'm Sappho, it's a pleasure to meet you," Sappho purrs and offers her hand to Aziraphale who blushes and begins to mutter something along the lines of _we're not ..._ before stopping herself and accepting the hand gratefully and if Crowley isn't mistaken, a touch star-struck.

"Pleasure’s all mine! I have greatly admired your work and to see you perform it live, it's a real honour! I'm Airlea," Aziraphale gushes and Crowley let's out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

"Airlea...what a pretty name, suits you." Sappho scans her eyes across Aziraphale's form once more, and smirks just a little. "Oh, I can already tell I'm going to be a fan of your work, as well, dear."

The suggestive undertone makes Crowley burn bright red. If Aziraphale had approached Sappho on her own, she could have excused herself, feigned exhaustion or a headache or plans with a friend. But now that Sappho has already seen them together, obviously without plans to part too soon, Crowley is stuck with this. Which also means...if Aziraphale is getting her wish, Crowley's about to get the answer to a mystery that she's been pondering for centuries. Or rather: a whole number of mysteries:

_Wonder what the angel's lips taste like?_

_Wonder what it's like to touch the angel's skin?_

_Wonder what's the best way to make the angel scream with pleasure?_

Something hot and complicated coils in her gut, and she hopes desperately that the others can’t tell just how conflicted and intrigued she is by this prospect. Aziraphale, at least, seems blissfully unaware.

"Work? Oh, I'm afraid I'm not... I don't have a way with words the way you do." Sappho laughs her most methodical laugh, and reaches for Crowley's wine glass to drain the rest of its contents.

"Oh, we'll find a way to make you sing, I'm sure of it. Care to accompany us home?"

"Yes! Oh that'd be lovely, yes thank you!" Aziraphale gushes and Crowley finds she needs to concentrate especially hard to get her legs to work and carry her forward.

Whether Aziraphale has missed the clearly sexual undertones (Crowley can't even call them undertones, they are blatantly overtones) to Sappho's request or if she's being her typical bastard self and is just playing coy, Crowley can't tell for sure.

All Crowley is truly certain of, is that her insatiable human lover is about to meet her insatiable angelic best friend and her stomach is twisted into so many knots, she can't work out exactly how she feels about this. Her cunt, however, has already formed it's opinion on the matter and is pulsing steadily, doing very little to ease the tight tension Crowley is feeling.

* * *

Sappho and Aziraphale talk and laugh like old friends on the walk back to the small home Sappho and Crowley share. Crowley follows behind, glad for the cool night air on her overheated skin. Every muscle is vibrating with anticipation and the gentle caress of her thighs as she walks only seems to heighten the nervous arousal the situation playing out before her has caused.

"Chrysanthe, my love, you look quite peaky, everything all right?" Sappho asks once inside and Aziraphale is settling onto the sofa.

"Yes, just fine, I think I may have forgotten to eat my dinner, you know what I'm like," Crowley says and swallows hard, trying to recapture what little composure she has left.

Sappho nods in understanding and moves to get a jug of wine and three glasses and Crowley sits gingerly next to Aziraphale, careful to not let their legs press against each other, certain that even that light touch would make her implode.

"This is a beautiful home you have, have you lived here long?" Aziraphale asks cordially and it would be polite, if it wasn't for the wicked sparkle playing at her eyes. Her cheeks are pink from the evening breeze, the excitement at having been invited back and hitting it off well with Sappho. Crowley can think of little more than the shape and curve of Aziraphale’s lips and how very soon, she'll likely know much more about them than just their visual appeal.

"Ah - hnn?" she responds eloquently, and damn it, she doesnt know whether to smack Aziraphale for the obvious teasing in her voice or whether to just abandon the pretense and kiss her already. The thought is exhilarating, after all the times she’s adoringly observed the angel, after all the ways in which this has played out in her head… but it’s also a little frightening. This is a bridge they can never un-cross, and while Crowley is certain that whatever happens, she’ll still want to look Aziraphale in the eye, will the same apply to her friend?

She manages to follow neither of her impulses, and instead reaches for her wine glass to distract herself.

"Oh, about six months, I think? Me, of course, Sappho has been here much longer. All her life, though she only got this house after her husband's death."

The lady of the house places a basket of bread on the table in front of them, along with an assortment of olives, oil and cheese.

"Eat something, love, you're not immortal. Always so forgetful, I swear, your head's away in the clouds half the time."

Aziraphale gives a small snort at that, causing Sappho to raise her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, it's just... hardly the Cro- Chrysanthe I know, is all."

This hardly serves to dispel the curious look on Sappho's face, and she carefully observes the two of them while she sinks down in a chair opposite them.

"Yes, how _do_ the two of you know each other? I must say, I don't believe I've ever heard Chrysanthe mention an Airlea, seems like I would remember."

Well, of course Crowley's never mentioned her, she didn't even know the angel was using that name! But of course, she can't say that.

"Must have slipped my mind. We're old friends, aren't we?"

Serves Aziraphale right, finally a context in which she can't deny this, at least.

"Could say we practically grew up together." At the mention of this, Sappho's face brightens. "Oh, wonderful. Tell me, what was my darling like growing up?"

Aziraphale gives off a bubbly laugh, easily deflecting Crowley’s _old friend_ comment. She leans over to balance a bit of cheese on bread, chewing it thoroughly before responding.

“Chrysanthe as a child? Oh she was a lovely, charming thing of course, but so full of curiosity and questions, never responded well to authority. She could be a right little demon, when she wanted to be,” Aziraphale flashes Crowley a grin and it takes everything in Crowley not to roll her eyes.

“But,” Aziraphale continues. “She was always exceptionally kind to me, provided a great comfort when I’d mislaid something quite important as a child and while we’re not always the best at keeping in touch, I know that anytime I call for help, she’ll be there,” Aziraphale says and the warmth and affection in her voice takes Crowley completely by surprise. It sounds real and genuine and Crowley gazes at her with a mixture of appreciation and disbelief.

“Oh, I can believe it, it sounds like not much has changed at all, as naughty, and yet as sweet and giving as ever,” Sappho agrees and her hand runs up Crowley’s thigh, her fingertips just digging in, causing Crowley to gasp.

“You both flatter me immensely, I surely cannot be quite as good as all that, but thank you, all the same,” Crowley looks down at her wine and suddenly a morsel of bread and cheese is held before her.

“You’re still not eating, my precious, go on,” Sappho says and Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s eyes fixed on them.

Crowley carefully takes the bite with her teeth and no sooner does she swallow, Sappho’s lips are on her’s. She can’t stop the groan that spills forth and she pulls just away slightly, her lips just a whisper away from Sappho’s.

“We have company,” Crowley breathes.

“Oh yes! Of course, where have I put my manners!” Sappho chides herself and moves to kneel in front of Aziraphale, who is wide eyed and her cheeks pink.

“Guests first would be the polite thing, if I may?” Sappho says softly, running her palms up the thick flesh of Aziraphale’s thighs and their lips lock like magnets and Crowley is quite certain her head is going to explode at the sight.

She feels like she should look away. Excuse herself, even. Aziraphale was clearly planning for this to happen, but Crowley couldn't have been part of that calculation.

"My love..." she starts weakly, and the words that have become so familiar suddenly feel brittle on her tongue. So false, when her blood is singing with need and affection for the other person in the room. It doesn't take anything away from what she feels for Sappho, of course, but it helps bring home the fact of how temporary this has always been.

"We should, ah, make sure our guest isn't overwhelmed. I'm not sure Airlea knows what she's signed up for." Sappho and Aziraphale break apart, and both look at her with a slightly put-out expression, until Aziraphale laughs again that bright, tinkling laugh of hers.

Oh, that's new. And it goes right to Crowley's core.

"Please dear, of course I've heard stories about Sappho here. I hadn't expected you to be here, but, well, I'll just count my blessings, shall I?"

The question renders Crowley temporarily mute. _Blessings?_ Sure, she probably says that for Sappho's benefit, but still...

"I swear, she always takes me for some dainty innocent flower. The first time we met, you know what she said to me?" Aziraphale shoots Sappho an amused look, which the poetess answers with an eager, questioning nod. "She said: ‘ _You're an angel, I don't think you can do the wrong thing.’_ "

The heat intensifies across Crowley's face. Aziraphale's words don't go very far in making Crowley feel any more welcome. Her insides squirm at the confirmation that this is exactly what Aziraphale had planned and Crowley can’t work out if she's a burden or an actual blessing as Aziraphale says.

"Oh my sweet Chrysanthe, you must have more faith in your friend, we're all capable of a bit of mischief," Sappho coos, her fingers creeping up the skirt of Aziraphale's dress, revealing more of creamy flesh underneath and Aziraphale preens under the compliment.

_Yeah, well, some of us Fell for a lot less than 'mischief'._ Crowley thinks bitterly.

"Well, it must be said I've never had the opportunity to see her do anything _mischievous_ , she can be quite righteous," Crowley mutters and pulls her eyes away from Sappho's fingers creeping further up Aziraphale's thighs, which spread easily under the touch, a quiet, but hungry moan slipping from the angel's lips.

It's all overwhelming and too much. Crowley suspected that Aziraphale was lusty and prone to sexual indulgence (as indeed she was prone to every other sort of indulgence going), but she's never had to face it before, never had to watch Aziraphale indulge in this particular extravagance. Coupled with the fact that it's Crowley's own lover who is pulling those breathy sounds from the angel, she's finding it increasingly difficult to process it and feels the sudden need for a very long nap.

Aziraphale seems to notice Crowley's distress and easily slips away from Sappho's hands and glides to Crowley, slipping her fingers around Crowley's wrist and pulling her close.

"Are you okay?" She whispers, her lips just brushing against Crowley's ear.

Crowley looks up and catches her eyes and gives her head a tiny shake. Aziraphale frowns for just a moment and then brushes her hand across Crowley's cheek, her fingers curling around the base of Crowley's skull.

" _It's just me and it's just you, I'll not take her from you. It's just tonight. I hope you can enjoy it, but I can go, if you're not comfortable?_ " Aziraphale whispers in a language older than them and Crowley looks down.

" _Please stay,_ " Crowley replies and before she can say anything further, Aziraphale's lips lock on Crowley’s, pulling her into a slow, tender kiss, nothing like the heated one she's just shared with Sappho and full of something ancient and long-standing that Crowley doesn't dare name.

_If you only knew. I'd give her up in a heartbeat if I got to keep you instead._

The thought makes Crowley flinch, and she can feel Aziraphale start to pull away, but she stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

_Sorry_ , she thinks, then adds, out loud: "'m not... stay."

Aziraphale's lips curve into a smile against Crowley's, and she slowly opens her lips, darting out a smooth, silky tongue, and Crowley can only just stifle a moan. Oh, this is going to be her undoing, this is surely going to destroy her. At least her tombstone will be impressive, with a renowned poet at hand to write the inscription. When Aziraphale finally does pull away, her eyes are half-closed and heavy-lidded, and she blinks slowly at Sappho, then at Crowley.

"You'll have to excuse me. I'm not - I've never done this, between women."

Crowley can't help but smirk. Of course, Sappho will wonder about the way Aziraphale phrased it, but Crowley's curiosity has been satisfied - so this really _is_ Aziraphale’s first time in a female corporation.

Sappho seems surprised, Aziraphale's earlier confidence belying her inexperience. She moves purposefully to stand next to Crowley and Aziraphale, smiling softly. Crowley observes them, feeling strangely protective over them both, though she can't think of a real cause to be concerned.

"We all must have our first time, beautiful Airlea. And you've come to the right place. I hope she'll forgive me, but Chrysanthe had her first time here as well and she's been an exceptionally good learner. And how lovely for you both to share this together, childhood friends that you are," Sappho presses herself against Aziraphale, reaching for Crowley's hand and pulling her to the other side of Aziraphale, so the angel is surrounded on all sides.

Sappho uses her experience to direct the action, pulling Aziraphale first into a kiss and guiding Crowley's hands onto Aziraphale's arms. Aziraphale seems to melt into the kiss and Crowley's touch. Unlike Crowley during her first time, there's no air of nervous energy, just a relaxed, pleased easing into the new sensations.

Sappho's lips now move across her neck and Crowley's hands finally connect with her brain and begin to tug at Aziraphale’s dress, pulling the neatly tied bow which makes the light fabric slide effortlessly off her shoulders. Crowley grows more confident, the realisation of a dream she's held for centuries is finally coming to life and she moves to press her lips to Aziraphale's shoulder and down the curve of her breast, sliding the fabric further down Aziraphale’s chest, revealing the firm, round breasts underneath.

The angel tastes of honeysuckle and elderflower, summery and sweet and Crowley finds it utterly addicting. Her teeth scrape gently across a nipple as she cups Aziraphale's breast, warm and heavy in her palm, before wrapping her lips around it, while Sappho works to pull the rest of the dress away from Aziraphale’s body.

_I've wanted you so long, Aziraphale. And I've never dreamed it would be like this, but you're every bit as perfect as I've imagined._

A low gasp spills from Aziraphale's lips, as though in answer to Crowley's thoughts. Almost instinctively, she sucks on the nipple, and is rewarded by a deeper sound, a low moan that starts somewhere in Aziraphale's abdomen, and makes her entire body tremble.

"There you go." Sappho has succeeded in undressing Aziraphale, and her eyes scan across Aziraphale in relaxed reverence, an appreciative smile tugging at her lips. "See, my beautiful, your body knows what to do. Just trust her, and us, and you'll be in the best hands."

Crowley can't help but think that in Aziraphale's place, she'd feel slightly exposed, perhaps self-conscious, but Aziraphale seems confident and basking in the adoration. Aziraphale buries one hand in Crowley's hair, and guides her slowly downwards to the place where Aziraphale's belly forms a soft curve.

Sappho moves behind Aziraphale, pressing kisses down her spine and fixes her eyes on Crowley and casts her an encouraging smile. Crowley drops to her knees in front of Aziraphale, her hands resting in the gentle indention of her waist, nibbling her way down her belly and when she glances up, Aziraphale is watching her with a look of wonder on her face, so at ease and flushed with arousal, Sappho now buried against Aziraphale’s neck.

_I want you so much. I can’t believe you’re right here and this is happening and I want to make you so happy, I'm going to make this so good for you._ Crowley thinks and Aziraphale's fingers tighten in her hair as she kisses the top of her mound, scattered with pale blonde curls.

Aziraphale’s arousal is glistening at the top of her thighs and Crowley buries her nose in pressing a kiss to the start of the split of her, the sweet, musky scent of Aziraphale overwhelming her senses.

"I know you're not shy Chrysanthe. Why don't you taste her? See how lovely your friend tastes," Sappho murmurs.

Crowley needs no further encouragement and snakes her tongue between Aziraphale's thick folds and captures that first taste of nectar and drinks in moan it draws forth from Aziraphale, shuddering from her very core.

Crowley can't believe she's here, on her knees, worshiping at Aziraphale's altar, giving her that first exquisite feel of a soft tongue against her cunt and Aziraphale's muscles quiver under Crowley's explorative tongue.

"Mmmmm, my angel," Crowley says, her amber eyes flicking up to meet Aziraphale’s and pulls back just enough so Aziraphale can watch Crowley's serpent tongue slide up her labia, teasing her clit.

"She's very good with her tongue," Sappho grins and reaches around to cup Aziraphale's breasts in her hands, rolling her nipples between her fingers.

"Oh, she's very good! Ah! Cr. . .Chrysanthe, more, please," Aziraphale gasps and Crowley slides her tongue back down, dipping into her entrance, curling her tongue to pull more of Aziraphale’s honey across her palate.

Aziraphale's breath is coming faster now, and a lovely blush blooms on her cheeks and spreads down her chest. Crowley can hardly decide where to focus her eyes. She needs to pay attention to what she's doing, and Satan, how she wants to see as much as possible of the delectable cunt.

At the same time, though, she wants nothing more than to sit back on her heels, and enjoy the tableau before her. Aziraphale's hair has partially come loose from her updo, and tumbles down her face. She's leaning back easily into Sappho's embrace like she was made to fit exactly there, but her eyes are firmly fixed on Crowley.

"Go on, love, please, more of that."

_Love._

She's a demon, she should not be that easily flustered. Still, the word goes straight to Crowley's cunt, and from there seems to envelop her in a pulsating cocoon of golden light. Her heart, usually all too gladly forgotten, flutters with the realisation of how that name sounds on Aziraphale's tongue.

"Bed," Crowley suggests helplessly. "Let's get you... bed."

Sappho nods, and offers one hand to Crowley to help her up, while her other arm winds around Aziraphale's waist.

"What an excellent idea. It will be my honor if two such radiant flowers grace my bed." Sappho settles in against the headboard, and pulls Aziraphale against herself, so the angel comes to sit between her open knees.

"There you go, dear..." Her gaze is back on Crowley. "Perhaps this spread will be more to your liking than your poor, neglected dinner?"

Crowley's eyes flick back to Aziraphale, laid out before her, thick

thighs spread and labia shimmering with arousal, the inner folds just beginning to unfurl like a rose in the summer heat.

"Yes, I think you may be right. This is the finest delicacy I've had the opportunity to sample. I am going to utterly gorge myself," Crowley exhales and starts by running her hand up Aziraphale’s shins and across her thighs, Aziraphale's eyes glued to her, face pink with arousal and anticipation.

"You flatter me immensely, Chrysanthe and Sappho," Aziraphale pants and her head tips back against Sappho's shoulders as Crowley's hands reach the crest of her thighs, pushing them open that bit wider to settle between them on her belly, using her fingers to fully open Aziraphale.

Sappho's lips lock with Aziraphale’s, and Crowley watches a moment as their tongues slide together, Sappho's teeth just nipping Aziraphale's bottom lip and her clit pulses. She turns her attention back to Aziraphale's cunt, spread wide and damp with fluid and dips her tongue inside her entrance, drawing more of her creamy arousal on her tongue. A sigh escapes her with the sheer pleasure of it and Aziraphale's muffled groans go straight through her like an electric shock.

Crowley takes her time. Aziraphale has never had a cunt and it simply wouldn't do to rush the exploration and miss out on a single sensation that could make the angel weak. Her tongue curls up inside Aziraphale's vagina, the muscles tensing around her and then drags it out slowly, before pushing in again, noting everything that pulls a reaction out of Aziraphale, be it a quivering muscle or a breathy moan. Crowley traces her tongue through the winding maze of Aziraphale's inner labia, sucking and licking in alternate turns, all the while careful to avoid her clit, deciding she will save the best for last.

Aziraphale's cunt is dripping as Crowley tongues her way across her, Sappho meanwhile still lavishing kisses and bites across Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders.

Sappho's pelvis is grinding against Aziraphale's back in slow, tell-tale circles, and in spite of her rapt attention to Aziraphale, Crowley has to pause shortly to take in the view. There's something undeniably erotic about both Sappho's casual confidence and Aziraphale's wide-eyed curiosity. Regardless of her feelings towards either of them, the juxtaposition of both would have Crowley soaked in seconds - and coupled with her strong emotions, it's almost too much to take.

"I'm going to borrow one of your toys," she decides with a glance at Sappho, who acknowledges her with a quick nod, but doesn't tear her attention away from Aziraphale.

Crowley's hands shake with feverish urgency as she reaches for the carved box, made from beautiful olive wood and stored under Sappho's bed. She has had ample opportunity to sample the different delights stored in there, and therefore knows exactly what she's looking for. The sleek, wooden dildo is warm and heavy in her hand, and as it slides inside her, Crowley gives a relieved sigh, louder than she meant to be.

"Fuck, you're going to ruin me, the two of you."

"I want to watch you play with that," Aziraphale breathes as Crowley begins to approach her again to resume lavishing her with her tongue. Sappho pauses her nibbles on Aziraphale's earlobe and nods in agreement.

"Yes Chrysanthe, I think a show is in order. You're so beautiful when pleasuring yourself, it would seem unfair for Airlea to miss such a sight."

Crowley swallows hard. She has only intended to give her aching cunt a bit of relief and attention and hasn't anticipated the focus to shift to her. But if it's a show they want, well, Crowley always did have a flair for the dramatic.

She settles back on the floor in front of Aziraphale and Sappho, spreading her legs widely and angling her hips up for an improved view. She pulls the dildo from herself and moves it to her mouth, pulling her own essence off of it, her tongue winding lasciviously around it, before trailing it back down her body and teasing her clit with the head of it. Aziraphale groans at the sight and Sappho's hands snake across her body, slipping into her lap and encouraging Aziraphale's thighs to spread wider so Sappho can slide her fingers into Aziraphale's wet heat.

"Sweet fucking Satan," Crowley bits her lips and is quite distracted by Sappho's long and clever fingers wind and tease across Aziraphale's cunt.

"Language, my dear and anyway, aren't you meant to be showing off?" Sappho scolds playfully, clearly delighting in the rapture her fingering of Aziraphale has caused.

Crowley swallows hard, her eyes fixed on Sappho's fingers now burying themselves inside Aziraphale and she pushes the warm dildo back inside herself, curling her body around the sweet intrusion of it, letting her head fall back with a heady groan.

"Mmmmhmmm! Feels so good," Crowley purrs and slowly begins to pull the toy out again, grinding her hips against it, ensuring that Sappho and Aziraphale can see her hole stretching around it, before plunging it back in.

"Do you remember how I fucked you with it yesterday?" Sappho's voice is sweet and gentle, but unrelenting, and Crowley can't help but moan at the memory.

There is a reason she chose this toy, and that reason has everything to do with the many, many times she has come on its shaft. Aziraphale licks her lips, and makes sure her eyes lock with Crowley's before demanding, quiet as anything:

"Tell me about that."

Crowley's cunt responds with a gush of fluids, and she shivers, all over.

"You're - hhh - bossy, for an angel."

The look that lights up Aziraphale's face is so devious, Crowley can't help but be glad that Sappho won't catch it from her current position. But Aziraphale's gaze doesn't waver, and after a moment, Crowley caves with what might be the sweetest rush of submission she has ever felt.

"We were - swimming and sunbathing all day, and after we came home, she told me to wash up and lie down while she got herself ready." Her heart is hammering against her ribcage, a phantom taste of their sun-soaked afternoon on her tongue. "Told me not to touch myself until she could do it for me, and then kept me waiting. Felt like - hah, like hours, just staring at the ceiling, clutching the sheets so my hands wouldn't wander."

"More," Aziraphale says throatily as Crowley recalls the story, her voice breaking against the combination of the third finger Sappho slides inside her and Crowley's hips moving rhythmically against the dildo, now coated in the creamy fluids that pool on the floor beneath her.

"You were very good, weren't you Chrysanthe, your body was quivering by the time I arrived, the mere thought of what was coming to you enough to keep you dancing on the edge," Sappho coos and glides her thumb across Aziraphale's clit and the angel cries out again, sending another electric pulse of heat to Crowley's cunt.

“And then she came in, just draped in a gauzy dress, the moonlight shining through it, I wanted it so much, I'd waited so long. And she kissed me, long and slow, her hands teasing me, my skin was on fire, I needed more," Crowley continues, panting and gasping around her words as the wooden shaft continued to slide in and out of her.

Both women are watching her intently, but she doesn't feel embarrassed or shy, but emboldened and more desirable than ever before.

"And then she finally slid it in, and oh God it was good and thick and hard, and she's so good, angel, knows exactly what I need and she didn't stop. I still wasn't allowed to touch myself, hands gripping into the bed, waiting for her command so I could release."

Crowley's working the shaft faster now, her eyes dancing between Aziraphale and Sappho, the smell of sex heavy in the air and her senses overrun the impossibly erotic things happening before her eyes. She can feel herself teeter on the edge, her toes just beginning to curl and yet she's still waiting for the nod to go ahead and let go.

Aziraphale is close too. Sappho is pulling at her clit, the swollen nub peaking proudly from its hood, arousal soaking the cushion she's perched on and it's beautiful, seeing Aziraphale start to lose her composure, her teeth clamped down on her lip, her cheeks a bright red.

"Not yet, Chrysanthe, I want you to wait," Aziraphale breathes, gripping onto the edge of the bed, her thighs shaking. She won't last much longer.

Crowley gasps at the command and a wicked smile spreads across Sappho's face and Crowley is powerless to disobey. With a pained whimper, she stops fucking herself, letting the dildo slide wetly out of her.

"Oh, I like you, you're very good," Sappho purrs in Aziraphale's ear and rewards her with working her harder and faster until Aziraphale can't hold back any longer.

Her feet kick out from under her, and her hips lift off the bed as she comes, head thrown back and neck exposed. Small rolls of fat are visible at the base of her skull, and under her arms, and the quivering softness of her is the most beautiful thing Crowley has ever, ever seen. The dildo has rolled to the floor by now, and Crowley's nails are biting into her palms, but even so, it's hard to hold on, and entirely impossible to tear herself away from the sight.

Aziraphale's enjoyment of her orgasm is as mesmerising as any earthly pleasure she partakes in: it takes hold of her body, fully and completely, and bursts out of her with such warm radiance that Crowley could swear she can see the angel's halo.

Sappho knows just how to milk it, too: she works Aziraphale furiously through the first wave of her orgasm. Then, once the first cries of pleasure die down, she strokes her gently, coaxing out the sweet aftershocks and causing the Aziraphale’s feet to curl in hedonistic enjoyment. And finally, once Aziraphale has stilled in her arms, Sappho brushes against the tip of her clit once more, which draws another wavering cry from Aziraphale, and it sends a hot spike of emotion right through Crowley's heart. It wasn't until just now, not until that last, breathless sound, that she's even considered being jealous of her human lover. But now, with the sudden force of a wave breaking on a rocky shore, she can feel something hot and unpleasant rising in her throat, and has to turn her face away.

This is the first time Aziraphale has felt what it's like to have an orgasm with a cunt. Unlikely, but possibly even the first time another person has brought her to orgasm at all, and Crowley is suddenly, horribly aware that that person is not her. Will never be her. It could have been, should have been, but instead, it's a human who, wonderful as she is, will be dead and gone in a number of decades, but will always hold this place in Aziraphale's mind.

As the realisation washes over her, Crowley suddenly feels exposed and the building arousal inside her drains as the venom of jealousy and disappointment replaces the heat running through her veins. The strength of it surprises her and it's not remotely soothed by the way Aziraphale seems to melt into Sappho's arms, her face satiated and glowing with contentment. Crowley finds herself coiling in on herself, as if trying to protect the very heart of herself.

"That was exquisite, absolutely divine, perfect," Aziraphale says shakily and Crowley has to bite back a cry, tears beginning to sting the back of her eyes.

"I hope it was everything you wished for," Sappho runs her fingers through the Aziraphale’s tousled curls, both basking in the afterglow of her orgasm.

Crowley is torn into pieces. She shouldn't feel this way, this sick and gnawing feeling shouldn't be eating her alive. She has no rights on the angel or her pleasure or any experience she chooses for herself. Never has. But the vile blackness she feels threatens to overwhelm her and she feels light-headed. She stands carefully and makes her way to a window, desperate for fresh air to help clear her head.

"Chrysanthe, precious, are you all right?" Sappho calls after her, concern lacing her voice, but she’s apparently not willing to extract herself away from Aziraphale.

_No! You foolish human woman, you can't possibly understand what you've just robbed from me and what the creature between your thighs means to me._ Crowley thinks, her eyes fixed on the window and the moon shining through.

"Yeah, just, it's a lot, is all. I'll just need a moment," Crowley says instead feigning a casualness she doesn’t feel.

Crowley can hear Sappho hum in understanding, knowing that her lover is prone to moments of melancholy and permits her the space she's requested.

Crowley can hear them moving behind her, at first the soft brush of lips, followed by the movement of the mattress and then a pleasured moan from Sappho. She's afraid to look over her shoulder and when she finally steels herself to turn around, Aziraphale has buried her face in between Sappho's thighs, greedy glutton that she is.

The grief and jealousy fill her heart like lava, hot and heavy and making it hard to breathe. But just as Crowley is about to turn around and quietly take her leave, Aziraphale chimes in again.

"Chrysanthe? Come here and give me a hand, will you?"

_No. No, I absolutely won't. Why would I want to assist you in repeatedly breaking my heart?_

The irony that she set this up, that she explicitly told Aziraphale to stay, is not lost on her. But still, she isn't feeling very charitable until Aziraphale continues to speak.

"Please? You know how lost I would be without you." It sounds oddly sincere, even for Aziraphale, who was bound to take any new experience of pleasure very seriously. "Why don't you show me... what you do to her, usually?"

When Crowley turns around, Sappho is watching them both with an oddly glassy-eyed look, clearly puzzling (but not too concerned) over why they're speaking over her as though she barely exists.

"Alright... whatever you want, angel."

Crowley swallows hard, too aware still of the heart hammering in her chest, and the way her own slickness is still drying on her thighs. She feels exposed, and yet she's never wanted anything quite as much as she wants to make this work. At least until...

"Well, I want you," Aziraphale still isn't facing her, is still talking with that calm, sincere voice of hers. "Want you to show me what to do, that is." It might sound like walking back a promise she already made, but Crowley knows better than that. She knows that terrible, aching fear better than anybody else, and the fact that Aziraphale even said anything at all - it's taken the breath right out of her, and redefined anything she ever thought she knew about wanting and longing.

"Yeah. Yeah then... of course I'll do it."

Crowley makes her way slowly to the bed, drawing deep breaths to centre and ground herself. She knows what she's feeling is ridiculous and unwarranted, but the fact Aziraphale has in some way recognised her distress helps settle her nerves, reminds her that after this is all long and turned to dust, that Aziraphale will still be there and if nothing else, will always be her friend.

She slides next to Aziraphale, Sappho still watching with confused interest as Aziraphale turns to meet Crowley, now lying alongside her and strokes her hand softly down Crowley's cheek, which Crowley leans into with neediness and urgency.

"Show me, my dear, I know you can be so good," Aziraphale whispers again, something in her eyes soothing and a comfort to Crowley and Crowley feels her confidence slowly seeping back into her.

Crowley casts a glance at Sappho, giving her a smile that asks for her understanding and an apology for her strange behaviour written across her face. Sappho nods and lets her knees drop further open, her hand reaching down to twist into Crowley's hair.

Crowley traces her tongue across the sensitive skin on the inside of Sappho's thigh before following it with her teeth, nibbling and sucking there, making her way closer to Sappho's damp mound, the scent of her tingling with Aziraphale. It’s heady and sends a wave of desire through Crowley.

She is alright, this is alright, she can share this with both women. Slowly, the tight, hot knot of jealousy begins to untangle.

Sappho's fingernails are scratching lightly across her scalp, Aziraphale's fingers drawing a sinuous line from the base of her skull to the bottom of her spine. She moans against Sappho's skin, before blowing a cool breath of air across her and parting Sappho's folds with her fingers and moving to capture her inner labia in her lips and sucking lightly.

With Aziraphale's hand on the small of her back, everything about this feels new, every sensation heightened. But then Crowley sucks more decisively, and Sappho's hips arch off the bed, and - yes, this is familiar, too. Crowley is going to be alright.

"Hold her down," she instructs Aziraphale before she has a chance to fully process the thought. "I mean, hold - hold her hips." Aziraphale seems to hesitate, the tips of her fingers curling, just ever so slightly, into the sparse meat of Crowley's backside, as if she's reluctant to let go. And oh, isn't that a lovely thought.

But when Aziraphale stretches out alongside them, her form naked and voluptuous and so, so close to touching Crowley, it's still lovely, and it becomes something they share - something that's clicking into place. Aziraphale props herself up on one of her arms, and places the other on the soft curve of Sappho's stomach. She draws gentle circles there, holding the other woman in place, but certainly not what would be described as holding her down, until - another slide of Crowley's tongue brings yet another jerk of Sappho's hips, and quick as anything, Aziraphale's fingers curl around her hip bones, pressing her back into the mattress.

"Fuck." Sappho sounds impressed and aroused in equal parts, and uncharacteristically far gone. "For a shy kitten, you've got claws."

Crowley can't repress a laugh against Sappho's cunt. Aziraphale is a great number of things, but a _shy kitten_ is not one of them. From her peripheral vision, Crowley can see Aziraphale's fingers dig into the soft flesh at Sappho's hips. Her earlier concerns now melt away under this shared moment, Aziraphale and her working together to pleasure this beautiful human woman, who couldn't possibly comprehend that she's got heaven and hell between her thighs.

Crowley grins, her tongue taking a long, broad stroke across Sappho's clit before wrapping her mouth around the peak of her mound and sucking while her tongue continues it's sweeping strokes across Sappho, curling on occasion to cradle her clit and stroke it in tighter, more controlled touches. With Aziraphale pinning her hips to the bed, Sappho can only squirm helplessly under them both. Crowley can feel her muscles quivering under her skin, sweat and arousal beginning to dampen her cheeks.

"If you can reach, angel, she goes absolutely nuts when you suck her nipples," Crowley pulls back just far enough to speak, the hot breath of her words sending electric jolts through Sappho.

"Oh, but you are wicked, Chrysanthe!" Sappho gasps and Crowley can feel Aziraphale shift, still holding tight to Sappho's hips as Crowley resumes working her tongue, bringing her hand up to slip two fingers inside the leaking wet heat of her lover.

She knows Aziraphale has successfully managed the angle when Sappho lets out a desperate howl and Crowley presses a third finger inside her before pulling back to watch: Aziraphale is bent at Sappho's breast, Sappho is pink and glistening, goosebumps rising across her skin and Crowley's fingers stretching and fucking her.

"Mmm, I think we could manage something special for Sappho, don't you think, Airlea? As kind as she's been to allow us into her bed?" Crowley says and leisurely brushes the pad of her thumb across Sappho's swollen and deep-red clit, earning another cry from Sappho.

"Oh?" Aziraphale says as she moves to Sappho's other nipple. A silent miracle and Crowley's fingers are slick enough to slide her pinky inside of Sappho, stretching her and Sappho pants hungrily against the tight intrusion of it.

"Just you lie over her, let her taste you and you can taste her while we see how much more she can take?" Crowley says, her voice a low, heated purr.

Aziraphale nods and lays her body on top of Sappho's, now face-to-face with Crowley and Crowley can't help herself. She leans forward, kissing Aziraphale deeply as her fingers unfurl inside of Sappho.

There's a lingering taste of Sappho on Aziraphale's lips, but where that would have upset her only moments ago, now it ignites a new fire in Crowley's gut.

_You wanted to share this with me. I don't know if you even begin to understand what this means to me, but you wanted to share it with me, and I'll be damned again if I don't enjoy every second of it._

Their lips side together easily, and where before, it was sweet and explorative, now, Aziraphale opens up deeply. There's need behind it, and the heat of a fire that has just been expertly stoked. The answering groan from Sappho sounds muffled, and Crowley can tell she is already doing her best to delve in deeper between Aziraphale's legs, and discover what delights lay in store for her there.

"Lay back dear… let yourself enjoy this."

Crowley satisfies herself with the ozone and honeysuckle taste of Aziraphale on her lips and watches with pleasure as Aziraphale sets her gluttonous tongue to use on Sappho's cunt, those bright blue eyes occasionally glancing up to meet Crowley's, burning with pleasure and delight as Sappho's tongue finally finds purchase against Aziraphale's pussy.

As her fingers slide easily into Sappho, her velvety walls clenching and fluttering against them, Crowley thinks idly about how she intends to get her fill of Aziraphale once Sappho is spent and sleeping. Her focus begins to narrow to Aziraphale slurping and lapping at Sappho, panting and moaning through it and her own hand moving steadily into Sappho, the tightness of her just beginning to loosen enough for the tip of Crowley's thumb to slip inside. They all move quietly except for heated groans and cries, the air around them thick and heavy with sex. Crowley’s serpent tongue slips out to taste it, human and celestial blending in a heady and enticing way.

"My two beautiful women, neither of you can get enough, can you?" Crowley purrs and Sappho and Aziraphale both respond with throaty groans, both too busy devouring the other to form actual words.

The first knuckle of Crowley's thumb slips inside Sappho and she writhes against it, stretched nearly to her limit, but yet still hungry for more. As Crowley's hand slides fully inside Sappho, with Aziraphale's lips and tongue hungrily working her cunt, she knows the woman won't have long left, her entire body is shaking at the combined effort of angel and demon. Crowley's eyes move to Aziraphale, her cherubic cheeks pink with pleasure and shining with Sappho’s juices, a glimmer of sweat causing her white blonde curls to cling to her face.

It's all too much and Crowley's free hand slips between her own thighs, fingering her clit as the women before her begin to climb the crest of their orgasms, delicious slick arousal now coating Crowley to her wrist.

With Aziraphale working away so diligently on Sappho's clit, all she has to do is slightly turn her wrist in the depths of her slick cunt. Still, working both herself and her lover proves more difficult than she thought, and after a moment, Crowley has to give up again, grinding her pelvis against the mattress in frustration while she tilts her wrist just so, and - Sappho explodes into a fit of shouts and cries, legs kicking out from under her, her body arching off the mattress and pressing into Aziraphale, who in turn, responds with enthusiastic moans.

As Sappho's orgasm washes over her, she contracts around Crowley's hand, squeezing her in a delicious, velvety grip, and Crowley's free hand quickly slips into Aziraphale's hair, if only to give it something to do. The tight grip seems to spur Aziraphale on, though, and she squeezes her eyes shut, hips working faster now where they are cradled in Sappho's firm, expert grip.

"Oh yes, darling, please, hold me, just - just like that." There is a breathy, just gone quality to Aziraphale's voice, and it's all Crowley can do not to immediately withdraw her hand from Sappho's depths, and hold on to her as tightly as she can.

With her hand still buried in Sappho, the aftershocks of her orgasm clenching wetly against Crowley's hand and the other buried in Aziraphale's hair, her own cunt is burning with neglect, the sounds and scents around her only throwing fuel on the fire. Aziraphale eases her lips away from Sappho's now hyper-sensitive skin, still stretched around Crowley's hand and turns her face to Crowley's, a glassy eyed expression on her face as Sappho continues push her tongue inside her despite her body quivering from her own orgasm.

Crowley lays a gentle hand on Sappho's thigh, squeezing. She carefully pulls her hand from Sappho, who gasps with the sudden air around her and drops spent and exhausted against her pillows.

"You relax precious, I've got this," Crowley soothes and pulls Aziraphale off Sappho easily, the angel shuddering in her arms, teetering on the edge and kissing her deeply. Crowley helps to position Aziraphale's thighs between hers, their cunts pressing against each other.

Aziraphale looks like she's in another world, pleasure written across her every feature. Crowley pushes damp curls off her face with her fingers and pulls Aziraphale closer with her legs. Aziraphale whimpers as Crowley closes the distance between them and begins to grind against her.

"Crowley, yes, please," Aziraphale whispers, her voice hoarse and needy and Crowley's heart squeezes at hearing her own name, sweet and breathy on Aziraphale’s lips.

"Shhh," Crowley breathes and gasps against the slick heat of Aziraphale rutting against her, so close and clinging to Crowley as if her very life depended on it.

They move together, hands gripping together to bring them closer still. Crowley's entire world narrows to Aziraphale, lost in desire, needing Crowley to bring her over the edge, to give her much needed release.

Their cunts rut against each other, stars begin to dance behind Crowley's eyes and like a wave crashing over her, Crowley unexpectedly snaps and is tumbling into the angel.

She's coming, but it's unlike any orgasm she's known, she feels bound and twined with Aziraphale, their essences mixing and merging together and when her vision clears, she finds Aziraphale bundled in her arms, her lips gently and lazily kissing her.

The gentle snores from behind them reassures her that Sappho has dozed off, and for the moment, it’s only Aziraphale and Crowley, and miles and miles of heated skin between them.

"That was... fuck. What _was_ that?"

Aziraphale's lips pull into a smile, that looks sweet and angelic, though it’s hard to read it as anything but self-satisfied. She pushes back Crowley's sweat-damp curls, and pulls her in for another slow, deep kiss before attempting an answer.

"I dare say, that was an orgasm unlike anything human corporations can do."

_No shit._

Crowley tightens her arms around Aziraphale, and pulls her even closer their legs are still intertwined, but with the urgency of their building orgasms gone, the feeling between them resembles a crackling campfire more than a raging firestorm.

It feels...safe and warm and constant in a way Crowley hardly dares hope.

"Fucking...amazing, I didn't think...I mean, I knew you'd be special. Didn't see that coming, though. You reckon it's because we're both...?"

A small nod.

"I assume so."

"Well, shit. Have you ever...done this before? With another immortal, I mean?"

Crowley bites back a laugh at the way Aziraphale’s nose crinkles in disgust. She is adorable beyond measure and Crowley is very nearly pulling Aziraphale in for another kiss, so strong is the rush of affection that runs through her.

“Absolutely not Crowley, can you imagine?!” Aziraphale says haughtily and it only makes Crowley’s eyebrows creep higher up her forehead.

“Well? How did ya figure this out then?” Crowley asks playfully and Aziraphale makes a slightly put upon face, but there’s no sting in it.

“Well, if you must now, I was, em, testing my effort. . .”

“Masturbating. The word you’re looking for is masturbating,” Crowley interjects and how the angel can find any shame left with which to blush after the evening's activities, Crowley can only wonder.

“Yes, well, fine. I was masturbating, as you so crudely put it, and something similar happened, thought I’d share it with you. It’s different, on one’s own, very nice indeed in fact, but that, with you, it was -- well, transcendent,” Aziraphale explains and there’s a gentle affection in the last words that turns Crowley’s insides into soup.

Crowley can’t even respond, her whole outburst earlier had been solely focussed on her upset at what she hasn’t been able to share with Aziraphale and somehow she was able to find a corporal pleasure that only they two could share and Crowley feels tears sting her eyes at the sheer thoughtfulness of the gesture.

“Thank you,” is all Crowley can say and she pulls Aziraphale closer, their limbs tangled to where they can’t discern where Crowley stops and Aziraphale begins.

Aziraphale kisses her again and there’s a whoosh in the air around them as Crowley is suddenly engulfed in snow-white wings. Crowley’s eyes fly open and cast a worried glance towards the sleeping Sappho, but Aziraphale just laughs in that bright, melodic laugh of her’s.

“Don’t worry, Crowley. She’s sound asleep, having the very best dreams. It’s just you and me,” Aziraphale assures Crowley and there’s a twinkle in her eye that confirms that Sappho won’t wake until Aziraphale is ready for her to do so.

“She is an exquisite human, perhaps one of the finest the world will see, by my estimation. But she is a pale torch to you,” Aziraphale pushes her fingers into Crowley’s hair, pulling her into a deep and searching kiss.

Crowley's face heats up with the praise, but any words of protest are drowned out by the kiss. Whenever she pulls back to say anything, Aziraphale tightens her grip and pulls her in closer, until finally, Crowley gives up and simply melts into the mattress.

There is enough here to focus on, certainly, without getting into a pointless argument: the way sweat has collected in the hollow of Aziraphale's back, and the tiny tremors of her muscles when Crowley runs her hands along her thighs. The way her wings move ever so gently in the quiet room, fanning the cool night air to flood exquisitely over their heated bodies.

"So, did you have this planned, then?" Crowley is feigning a casualty she doesn't feel, as though the mere thought that Aziraphale knew she would be here, and decided explicitly to come seek her out, doesn't stir a whole colony of butterflies in her stomach. And it's a good thing, too, because if she had less control over her facial features, Aziraphale might be able to catch the fall of disappointment when she shakes her head. As it is, it's only Crowley who notices, and quickly swallows down the bitter truth.

"No, I had no idea you were here. That isn't to say I wasn't delighted to find out, though. I couldn't possibly have imagined a more perfect way to discover this new corporation." She leans in again, but instead of another kiss, she presses her lips against Crowley's forehead. "Thank you, for this incredible gift my dear."

_But you did imagine another way to discover this new corporation and it didn't include me._

That creeping envy catches the back of Crowley's throat like a badly digested meal and she swallows it down just as quickly as it has risen.

"You're welcome," Crowley manages instead and as she scans across Aziraphale's face, she finds she means it and no matter what her own personal hang ups are, the fact remains that Aziraphale is wrapped in her arms and that was a dream she never thought would come true.

Crowley paws at Aziraphale's shoulders, pulling her into another kiss and Aziraphale hums happily, kissing her back, the softness of the angel pressing against the angles and sharp lines of Crowley and as the kiss deepens, the room around them shifts. Sappho's Grecian apartment fades and so too do their womanly corporations, the spare room of their cottage coming into focus.

_Lying on soft beds_

_You could fill your desire_

Sappho -- Fragment 54

  
  



	2. Gorgeous NSFW Art!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exquisite art of our beloved wives (and Sappho makes an appearance as well :D) 
> 
> Artwork by the fabulous [Selene](https://selene-yoshi-chan.tumblr.com) who captured Aziraphale comforting Crowley in the most beautiful way! It was such a privilege to commission a piece from this incredibly talented artist!

**Author's Note:**

> Want to comment, but not sure what to say?  
> We welcome any kind of comment – short sentences or emojis as much as long lists of copied sentences you liked with or without your reaction, and of COURSE long rants or analyses on what you liked. Constructive criticism is also always appreciated!  
> If you’re stuck on what to say, the Long Live Feedback comment builder is a neat tool. It exists as either a [Google sheet](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1lOqWGDNquHxr23l84ASKn-vdSLFrHop4giVOYDkKnWI/edit#gid=547831518) or an [excel sheet](https://onedrive.live.com/view.aspx?resid=5483CD320B0B1070!128&ithint=file%2cxlsx&authkey=!AH0iTc9X_UtUzCE), both of which help you generate comments that express what you liked about a story without you having to find or type the words. Comments can be customised or fully generated by the tool, and we promise, as your authors, we will love you for commenting more frequently!


End file.
